


and not unto the dark

by jack_inaboxx



Series: crack in the glass [6]
Category: Doctor Who, Original Work
Genre: Gen, Undefined - Freeform, disturbing mental imagery, possible disturbing descriptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24559591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jack_inaboxx/pseuds/jack_inaboxx
Summary: There is dark, and then there is light.
Series: crack in the glass [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774129
Kudos: 1





	and not unto the dark

**Author's Note:**

> This is a really old piece, written when I was in... a much worse state of mind than I am now. I was just getting into classic Who, and had fixated on the Fifth Doctor because.... well, I'm not entirely sure, but he felt like someone that could save me from what was, at the time, what seemed to be an impossible situation to survive.  
> A lot of this is that younger me trying to put what I felt into words, and it's... not pretty. The writing is also abysmally fannish, which is mildly embarrassing, but I think it's important that I get this out to the world, too. Some sort of closure, maybe. 
> 
> So just to clarify; this isn't quite 'dead dove; do not eat', but it's not too far off. Maybe that's just me, because I can see the meaning behind all the words, but be careful when reading this.

Dark.

It’s dark.

That’s all there is, the dark.

I like the dark.

It hides me, protects me, and the others in the dark, the creatures in the night, the lost ones who creep through the silence and the whispers.

It’s not always dark, or it wasn’t (light and love and kindness, so much kindness but not anymore, not in the dark) before (so long ago, what does light feel like? I don’t remember) and now it is and

Can’t breathe

Can’t

Alive

Alive, and it’s dark

I like the dark

But I miss the light sometimes.

I shouldn’t; the light is dangerous (murder and wrong and unkindness and cruelty and I can’t stop any of it I can’t I can’t I couldn’t and)

But I do.

But it is dark, and it is safe, and so I stay.

Where would I go, if not the dark? The world is dark. It is cold and dark and there is no air so I drown in nothingness again and again and

But it is dark and safe.

Can’t breathe

Don’t want to.

Alive.

Breathing-not-breathing, alive, alive, and-

It takes longer for me to die every time; I wonder if I am becoming immune.

Immune to breathing, or immune to not breathing, I wonder which…

Doesn’t matter. The world is dark. Barren and dark, but beautiful, and safe, and yet. And yet and yet and (Light. Trees; listen to the wind through them, making them whisper. A pond, clear cool water, bright flashes of orange fish. Gone now, there is only the dark)

And yet.

Dark.

Safe lovely silent dark.

Silent.

Silent silence silently silence-

The creatures of the night are silent and yet they are screaming into the dark, into the silence with their voices and they are _screaming_ because there is nobody to hear them but me but I am screaming too and we are lost and it is dark and there is screaming and I am screaming and we are screaming and

And it is silent.

But- there!

A sound, a rumbling, a shaking, and loud and it _hurts, it hurts_ , but it’s sound, it’s sound, there is no silence anymore, and now there is light, bright harsh light but it is _light_

Gone.

Gone, it’s dark and silent and I can’t breathe and

Alive

Alive, and learning to not gasp each time and

No more ache in my chest

And it is silent and dark but it wasn’t and come back

Come back

_Come back!_

**  
** A box **  
**

Blue

Color?

I remember color

I remember color, I remember blue (sadness and calm and ocean and Mal’s eyes and me, my color, my safe constant)

I remember green (joy and free and trees and grass and nature, life, and Maddi, Maddi’s color, hers and so proud)

I remember red (anger and excitement and fire and blood and softness and Lyra, her color, bright and strong and alive)

And I remember them

But they are dead

They are dead and I am here.

I lived through wars and the fall of empires and the end of the world (but the world is here it’s dark and cold and silent)

It has doors.

The box has doors.

Why?

One opens and

_LIGHT._

It’s warm and kind and gentle, and there’s a man, a golden man, not a creature of the night, a creature of time, of eternity, another one, I am not alone-

Can’t breathe

I am screaming, but it is silent, and there is silence, and I am screaming, and

The man flinched?

Can’t _breathe_

Alive.

Alive alive alive alive

Where am I?

It is not dark. There is no dark anywhere.

Light, so much light, it is pure, pure…

Pure what?

White.

I can’t-

Where is the dark? There is no dark, I can’t

Bring back the dark

_BRING BACK THE DARK_

The lights dim

It is not dark but it is enough

It is a balance, perfect, light and dark

Is this what normal is?

I have never been normal, always moving, always running, always killing and

“You need to breathe. Breathe in. Can you remember how to breathe?”

It’s the golden man.

I can try to breathe, for him, for _another like me._

I gasp. Then gasp out. And in again.

_Is that how…?_

“Yes, that’s a start,” he says, smiling encouragingly.

How can he hear me? It is silent. He is the only not silent, the only sound, everything else is-

There is no silence.

There is a low hum, everywhere, the walls, the floor, the air.

_There is… sound?_

“Yes, I suppose you’re used to the silence, after… surviving, there, for so long,” he says, and now he sounds sad. Why?

_Why are you sad? Where am I?_

“Oh, yes, of course,” he says, brightening suddenly, “You’re probably quite confused. It’ll take some time to get used to living again. As for where you are, well, this is the TARDIS.” there is old pride in his words, a fondness, a love. I smile, involuntarily, muscles I haven’t used in far too long stretching into what probably doesn’t look quite right, but I can’t bring myself to care.

My breathing is steady; matching with the golden man’s.

_Who are you, golden man?_

“Golden man?” he glances down, “More like cream, but I suppose that fits well enough, for someone still trying to remember humanity.”

Something clicks into place in my head, near blue and green and red, something-

_(Human. I’d say I’m only human, but I don’t think I really am, anymore.)_

_(Humanity? What is humanity? A state of being? A race? I am neither.)_

_(I DON’T KNOW WHAT I AM! I DON’T KNOW ANYMORE!)_

I open my eyes, shivering.

My breathing is still steady.

“Are you alright?” golden man says.

I concentrate.

_You said you weren’t golden, but you are. What do you call yourself?_

“Ah,” he sounds concerned. I don’t know why. “Well, I’m the Doctor.” There is the old pride again. It is more than a title, more than a name.

For it is a name; I recognize a name-title when I hear one. Just like I was-

_(The Last Historian.)_

I blink and shake my head.

“What-”

_NO._

The g- the Doctor winces, and I wince, too, in sympathy. I hadn’t meant to hurt. But that shard of memory is harsh and ragged and it _does_ hurt, it _HURTS_.

“Are you in pain? Where does it hurt?”

I frown and gesture to my chest.

“Your chest?”

I shake my head, frustrated. I jab myself in the chest with my thumb, then wince and rub the spot through the ragged old robes.

“Your… heart?” the Doctor sounds confused.

I’m confused, too.

I hesitate, then nod.

“Well, it’ll take time to sort that out,” he says.

_Time. I’ve had millenia. It just gets worse._

_What the hell? That wasn’t me. That was- something else._

“Hmm,” the Doctor frowns.

_I don’t- what happened to me? Why am I like this? I’m not supposed to be like this, I remember- sometimes, bits and pieces, and I wasn’t like this before! I know that I- I. I know._

“Hush, it’s alright,” the Doctor says, and reaches out- I flinch violently, and he sits back on his heels again.

_Sorry, I think- I think I’ve always been like that._

“That’s alright; but you’re probably touch-starved, and that isn’t healthy,” he says. He sounds concerned.

_I know._

_Why can you hear my thoughts?_

“You’re broadcasting them,” he answers, “I think the end of your world caused some changes in your physiology. The lesser need to breathe, the telepathy, or partial telepathy at least, and I think those are permanent. A couple non-permanent side-effects, too, like the sensitivity to light and sound - although the sound is less pronounced, probably due to the consistent telepathic shrieking outside, and the incredibly advanced touch starvation. And, I think, the fact that you see me as golden.”

I blink. And then look at him again.

_You are golden, though._

“Well I’m certainly not golden, I’m sure of that. Anyway, that should wear off soon.”

_I think that’s always been there._

“Really? But that’s not normal human physiology.”

_(Humanity is such an abstract concept, it’s almost like-)_

_I know. It’s just a feeling._

“Can you try to speak?” he asks, sounding curious.

“Iahh,” I rasp.

“Well, that’s a start,” he murmured.

_Maybe some water? Does water exist? Or, food? Real food?_

“Yes, yes of course!” he exclaimed, bounding up- and there’s another new problem.

_NO, NO DON’T LEAVE! PLEASE! DON’T LEAVE ME ALONE AGAIN!_

He’s back beside me in barely a moment. The shaking takes a few more moments to stop, but I force it down. An echo of a thought murmurs that _I’ve had practice._

“It’s alright, I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs, reaching for me, but letting me choose whether to close the distance. After a hesitation, I do, leaning into the gentle touch he’s offering and working through the flood of emotions it causes.

_I feel too much. Is this normal?_

_(I have never been normal)_

When the emotions are easier to manage, thrumming in my bones instead of just under my skin, I sag against him, and I try to ignore the tears.

I don’t remember the name for the feeling I’m having- like giving up, but happy. Reliev? Refiel? Something like that.

I smile.

It’ll come to me.

**  
—**

**—| |—**

**—  
**   


I’m not afraid, standing in the room, at least, not until they shut the lights off.

It’s dark.

I like the dark.

But… but there isn’t supposed to be dark anymore.

I found light. A bright, bright person, someone who-

“Doctor!” I cry. “DOCTOR!”

And it’s dark and silent, and it’s true silence, I can’t even feel the busy hum of the workers from before, and-

I’m afraid.

_DOCTOR!!!_

I am afraid

But I can breathe

But it is dark and there is nothing

I am nothing

There is nothing

_There is nothing_

_DOCTOR_

_There is nothing I am nothing_

_thereisnothingIamnothingnothing_

_GIVE ME BACK MY LIGHT_

There are sparks, and briefly, briefly, I feel a great wave of mental energy, and I know the equipment on the base is bursting into flame, but not the lights (never the lights) and it is dark and

There is nothing.

Nothing, nothing but-

_And we welcome_

_the deep and lovely dark._

**Author's Note:**

> So. That's that. This is more personal than what I might usually post, but like I said, it felt important to get it out there. 
> 
> I'm still not sure whether it was a good idea or not.  
> Still. Per veritatem vis.


End file.
